Hermione Granger pressed her palm against the aching small of her back as she left the library, the echo of her footsteps swallowed by the stone corridors of Hogwarts. It was nearly midnight, and even the ghosts seemed to have retired for the evening. She clutched her bag tight to her chest, the corners of her worn books jutting through the fabric like jagged bones.
Her bushy brown hair was pulled into a messy bun, strands falling loose and sticking to her forehead. She wore a thick Gryffindor sweater over her collared uniform shirt, the red-and-gold crest slightly faded from years of wear. Her skirt brushed her knees as she walked, paired with dark tights and worn black shoes that clicked faintly against the stone floor.
The castle felt different at night — not just quiet, but watchful. The kind of silence that hummed, as if the walls themselves were listening.
She turned a corner on the fifth floor, near the abandoned Prefects' bathroom and what used to be a boys' lavatory no one used anymore. The torches here flickered low, casting long, twitching shadows on the damp walls.
That's when she heard it.
A shift of air behind her — not a footstep, not even a breath — just a movement. She turned, wand already halfway out of her robe.
Too slow.
Rough hands lunged from the darkness, snatching her by the waist and wrist. Her wand clattered to the floor as she opened her mouth to scream — but a cloth, reeking faintly of damp wood and something metallic, clamped over it. Her world tipped sideways as she was dragged into the darkness.
The door to the old boys' bathroom slammed shut behind her, muffling the echo through the hallway.
Inside: pitch black.
A blindfold slipped over her eyes. Her arms were bound, wrists tight behind her back. She heard the sound of the lock turning — not with magic, but an old-fashioned key, slow and deliberate.
Then nothing.
Just silence.
And breathing.
Not hers.
Someone's hand gripped her shoulder, firm but not unkind. They spun her, not so gently, until her back met the cold edge of what felt like a countertop. She gasped as she was hoisted up, her legs dangling off the edge. The hand left her shoulder, but only for a moment.
It returned, callused and hot, sliding up her inner thigh.
A male voice, low and amused, murmured in her ear: "Well, well, well. What do we have here? A little know-it-all, all alone in the dark."
The hand slid higher, fingers teasing the hem of her skirt.
She tried to kick, but another hand caught her ankle, pressing her leg down against the countertop, opening her thighs.
"Struggle's no use, Granger," another voice said. "We've got you."
The hand at her thigh pushed her skirt up, fingers brushing the cotton of her tights. "Oh, tights. How… proper."
She felt the pressure of a knee against her inner thigh, wedging her legs apart. A zip being lowered. The rustle of fabric.
Then a blunt pressure, not quite painful but insistent, against the seam of her tights.
The first voice laughed. "Look at her. All trussed up like a proper little virgin. Bet she's never even seen a cock."
She squirmed, trying to twist away — but the hands were everywhere, gripping her hips, pinning her wrists, molesting her breasts, holding her still.
"Ready, Granger?" The voice was closer now, hot against her ear. "Ready to find out what all those books don't teach you?"
The pressure increased. The seam of her tights gave way with a quiet tear.
Then there was only heat and stretching and a burn that made her arch back, a choked cry escaping her throat.
"See?" The voice purred, mocking. "Not so scary, is it?"
But it was. It was too big, too deep, filling her until she couldn't breathe. She felt every inch, every ridge as he pushed into her, her body resisting, tight.
"That's it," the voice soothed, though there was no tenderness in it. Only hunger. "Just a little more. God, you're tight."
A hand fumbled at her collar, yanking down the cups of her bra and pinching at her nipple.
"Fuck," another voice muttered. "She's milking me already. Little slut loves it."
A third voice, further away, said, "Better hurry, mate. There's a queue."
The man inside her chuckled, thrusting deeper, grinding against her torn tights. She bit her lip to muffle another cry.
His rhythm quickened, hips slapping against hers, the edge of the countertop digging into the small of her back. Fingers twisted in her hair, yanking her head back.
"Come on, Granger. Don't you want to be good for us?"
She didn't answer, couldn't answer, but her body betrayed her, clenching around him with every thrust.
"Fuuuck," he groaned against her neck, biting down as he ground into her. "Here it comes… swallow it, you little bitch."
Heat exploded inside her, pumping deep, making her whimper even as her muscles spasmed helplessly. She felt him pull out, his cum spilling down her thighs, and only then did the hand in her hair release her.
But before she could even try to close her legs, before she could process the ache between them, another pressure was there, another cock, pushing into her with no warning.
This one was thicker, stretching her sore muscles, the cum from the first man easing the way despite her pained gasp.
"God, she's perfect," this new man growled. "Look at her taking it."
"Not so uptight now, eh, Granger?" Yet another voice jeered.
Hands groped her, squeezing her breasts, pinching her nipples, one even snaking down to rub roughly at her clit, making her jump and whimper.
"Shh, shh," the man fucking her murmured, mockingly soft. "It's alright. You're doing so well."
He pounded into her, relentless, the sound of skin slapping skin filling the room, mingling with her choked moans and the groans of the men around her. She felt another orgasm building, helpless, as he used her body for his pleasure.
This time, when he finished inside her, she felt the cum spill out immediately as the next man took his place.
And the next.
And the next.
Each one stretching her, filling her, using her body. Some were rough, some almost gentle, but all took without asking, their hands marking her skin as surely as their cum marked her insides.
Time lost meaning. She was adrift in a sea of sensation — pain and pleasure, humiliation and heat. Her muscles trembled, overused and exhausted, her mind fogged with arousal despite the terror still clinging to her ribs.
At some point, she felt herself being lifted, turned over, her bound wrists now in front of her but still secured. The edge of the countertop dug into her hips as she was bent forward, her feet no longer touching the floor.
"Ready for the main event, Granger?" A new voice, deeper, more commanding than the others. It sent a shiver down her spine that wasn't entirely fear.
Hands spread her cheeks, exposing her. A finger, slick with something, traced her virgin hole.
"No!" she cried out, but it was too late.
The pressure came, overwhelming, burning as it pushed inside her. She screamed into the gag, writhing, but there was nowhere to go.
"Shhh," the man soothed, even as he forced himself deeper into her ass. "You're doing so well. Just relax."
But she couldn't relax, couldn't do anything but whimper and shake as he bottomed out.
Then he started to move.
The rhythm was different here — slower, more controlled, but no less devastating. Each thrust felt like it went on forever, pressing buttons she didn't even know she had.
And she did, screaming into her gag as her body clenched around the cock in her ass.
The man cursed, hips jerking as he pumped his cum into her, filling her in an entirely new way.
He didn't pull out when he was done. Instead, he reached around, fingers finding her clit and stroking firmly.
"No, no, no," she begged, but her traitorous body was already building again, sensitive and overwhelmed.
"Come for me again," the man ordered, thrusting shallowly into her sore ass. "Let's see how many times our little know-it-all can come."
And so she did, sobbing into the gag as he used her exhausted body for his own pleasure, her muscles clenching around him in helpless spasms.
He finished inside her again, hot and thick, his cum leaking out around his still-hard cock. Only then did he pull free, leaving her gaping and overfull.
But there was no rest. Another man took his place, this one fucking her ass with quick, brutal thrusts that punched the air from her lungs. She came again as her once pristine hole was reshaped, tears streaming beneath the blindfold, her body unable to stop its betrayal.
And still they kept coming. Her ass, her pussy, her throat when they finally removed the gag — all were used, filled, and filled again until she was a sobbing, trembling mess, her body covered in marks and bruises, her holes sore and leaking cum.
Only when every last man had his fill did the hands finally withdraw. The ropes fell away, her limbs trembling and uncoordinated. Her clothes were straightened, her tights righted as if they'd never been torn.
A hand gripped her chin, tilting her face up. For the first time, the commanding voice from before spoke with a tenderness that wasn't feigned. "You did well, little one. But remember, this never happened. You came to the library for a book and got lost in the stacks."
A wand tapped her forehead, and the world went dark.
Hermione stumbled into the library the next morning, her hair a mess and her uniform askew. Madam Pince looked up from her desk, her expression pinching with disapproval.
"Miss Granger, you're a mess. Whatever have you been up to?"
Hermione blinked, her mind foggy. "I… I was just studying all night. Fell asleep at my desk, I think."
She rubbed her neck, wincing at the soreness there. "Must have slept sitting up."
Madam Pince's expression softened slightly. "Well, be more careful tonight, dear. Maybe actually go to your dormitory to sleep, hmm?"